


Bus Buddies

by orphan_account



Series: The Adventures of Mark and Toby [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bus, M/M, again its underage b/c age gap not sex, lotta bus, marks the nicest person in the world, tobys a tired little shit, too much bus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:56:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3163805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Thursday, like you expected, Toby isn’t there. You think that he only rides the bus three out of five days of the week. He’d probably never if he had the chance. The way he acts around noise confirms that for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bus Buddies

Your name is Mark Graffelon, and the boy sitting in front of you on the bus looks half dead. The only thing keeping you from thinking he isn’t currently a member of the deceased is the occasional flinch he gives. You’re not positive, but you’re fairly sure he’s reacting to the noises around the both of you. The tapping of your laptop probably isn’t helping anything either.

He’s got a school bag with him that’s covered in pins. They’re all references to books you’ve read. You’re happy you’re not the only fan. The boy, let’s call him Mystery Boy, or MB for short, has ridiculously ginger hair. It’s so orange you’d think it’s dyed, save for the fact that his eyebrows are the exact same color. MB’s eyes are closed in what looks to be an attempt to block out the noise, but he’s failing pretty miserably.

All of a sudden, he opens his eyes, looks at the next stop, and grabs his school bag. The bus comes rattling to a stop and he sprints off the vehicle. You watch him go, unsure of why, but you do. After he leaves, you look at the seat he was sitting in. There’s a pin on the seat. It must have fallen off when he stood up. You grab it, pin it closed, and slip it inside your pocket. You’ll give it to him the next time you see him on the bus. But right now, you need to focus on finishing this chapter. You’ve got a manuscript deadline for your editor that you cannot be late for again.

-

The next day, he isn’t there. You wonder if he got one of his parents to take him to school. Either way, the pin’s now in your laptop bag. You pull out said laptop to work on the next couple chapters as you wait for the bus to make it across town to the coffee shop you like.

People might call your coffee choices snooty, but you’ve got a bus pass and a craving for a good mocha latte. You personally don’t care what people think about your coffee choices. They always say it jokingly, so it doesn’t really matter. You’re more worried about what others think of your writing.

This current book is getting good remarks from your editor, but you’re still a little worried. You wonder if the intended audience will like it. While you are, in fact, a young adult, you’re not a teenager. That’s the reading audience you’re shooting for. Maybe intergalactic space trace will hit it off with the “teen scene.” You feel old even thinking that phrase. Ugh.

-

The third day, a Wednesday, Mystery Boy is back on the bus. He’s got headphones in this time, but still looks all around uncomfortable. There are very deep purple bags under his eye. He flinches when a phone rings. You wonder if he’s okay.

Before his bus stop, which you remember as 33rd St, you pull out the pin from his bag. When you tap MB on the shoulder he jumps and turns around. The look on his face is annoyance tinged with expectancy. He removes an earbud.

“Yes?” Even the sound of his own voice seems to be uncomfortable for him. You try to be quiet.

“Um, this pin fell off your bag on Monday and I was wondering if you wanted it back?” You hold it up for him. MB’s eyes widen and he takes it from you.

“Thank you. So much.” He looks like he’s about to turn back around, leaving you in the dark about why he’s so grateful for the pin back before he stops himself. “My, um, grandma gave it to me before she, y’know, kicked the metaphorical bucket, so it means a lot.”

You give him a sympathetic but not pitying smile and stick your hand out for him. “Mark.”

He hesitates before shaking it. “Toby. And I’ve got to go.”

Toby gets up, waves, and rushes off the bus like on Monday. You feel better knowing his name.

-

On Thursday, like you expected, Toby isn’t there. You think that he only rides the bus three out of five days of the week. He’d probably never if he had the chance. The way he acts around noise confirms that for you. He also probably has no way of blocking out the noise except for headphones, and that only works if you play music. Even then, it’s not great.

This gives you an idea for tomorrow.

-

Friday comes, and he’s sitting there. You think that whatever makes him sensitive to sound did its job last night because he looks more dead than on Monday. He doesn’t just flinch now, he slams his hands over his ears. You tap him on the shoulder again. There’s not even the effort of annoyance across his features. Just pure exhaustion. You’ve experienced that few times in your life, mostly because of word count deadlines, and you know it’s never fun.

“Yeah?” Even his voice sounds done with the world.

You give him a smile and his lips do a weird quirk thing at the corners. “Hi. It’s Mark again, although you probably remembered that. Back to the point, I’ve noticed you’re really sensitive to the noises on the bus.” His lip quirk drops. “And it gave me an idea. Because I know there’s these things that jewelers sometimes wear, because jewelry making gets really really loud, and it blocks out a lot of sound. So I thought I’d be a friendly bus buddy and get you the ear phone things they wear.”

You pull out the earphones. They look like exaggerated music players, and he looks at them as such, but takes the red and black ear covers anyway. When Toby puts them over his ears, you see something like happiness flicker over his features. You give him a questioning thumbs up and he nods back enthusiastically. This makes you smile, and he grins right back at you. It’s the happiest you’ve ever seen someone look, and you’re so glad you caused it. You don’t even know this kid, no idea how old he is, and yet here you are, grinning at each other like fools.

He looks at the next stop, 33rd St, and gives you a pained look. You wave at him and he reluctantly drags himself up from the bus seat. This is the most reluctant you’ve seen Toby be all week to get off the bus. The past two days he’s bolted. Now he shuffles.

The ear covers do look like headphones and for that you’re happy. It means they’re less likely to get taken away or get him made fun of. You know that you sure as hell don’t want either of those things happening.

-

Over the weekend, he’s not on the buses once. You’re happy for him, but a little disappointed. You hope he’s using the ear covers.

-

On Monday, he’s back sitting in front of you, looking well rested and content. He’s got the covers on and you don’t want to interrupt that. Instead, you type. It comforts you, knowing the covers are being put to use.

When he leaves, he taps you on the shoulder. Toby waves and you wave back, saying goodbye even though he can’t hear you. He nods and turns, walking out the bus doors at a completely normal pace.

-

On Tuesday, Toby isn’t there. You hide your disappointment in your writing, meeting your word count in record time. You’ll distract yourself with coffee once you get to the café.

 -

The rest of the week follows a similar pattern. He wears the headphones every day you see him, and makes it a point to wave you goodbye. You await his farewell smiles eagerly, and curse yourself for it after he leaves.

-

The next Monday, Toby looks like a nervous wreck. For some unknown reasons he doesn’t have the ear covers. He looks just as pained and tired as he did two Fridays ago. He turns to face you the minute he sits on the worn seat.

“What’s wrong?” He’s silent, wincing at your voice. You lower the noise level you talk in. “Where are the ear covers?”

“Got stolen. Some dick bag at school decided it would, agh, be funny to go through my stuff. Must have thought they were headphones or something because that’s the only thing they took.” He looks so tired, so worn down, that you want to cover his ears for him. But that would be creepy, not to mention unhelpful.

“Any specific reason for the noise reaction?” He’s quiet in thought for a moment, and you wonder why he has to think about it so hard.

“Parents are always yelling at each other. It’s never quiet at my house. Makes it hard to think right around noises. Not to mention loud stuff just gives me headaches like no other, so if you mix them together, you get tired and jumpy all the time. Not exactly the best combo.”

You have feeling there’s more, but you won’t push. You’ve already pushed past the boundaries of bus buddies. He’s looking at you like he expects you to say something.

“Well that… sucks.”

He laughs. “Yeah. Sucks is one word for it.”

You wonder if he’d- oh screw it. “Do you want to come to the café I’m going to? It’s pretty quiet, except for the sound of coffee making and keyboards. I mean, I understand if you don’t. You’ve got school and everything. I was just thinking that because it’s lou-“

He cuts you off with an, “I’d love to. Let me just call the school and tell them I’ll be out sick.”

And for the first time since you saw him, he doesn’t get off on the 33rd St stop.

**Author's Note:**

> hello im just posting these yep  
> beautiful beautiful bus buddies


End file.
